


Silver Moon

by Maeglin_Yedi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Bloodplay, Dystopia, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeglin_Yedi/pseuds/Maeglin_Yedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When there's no hope left, one will submit to anything. Even Walden Macnair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Remus Lupin/Walden Macnair, Remus Lupin/Sirius Black  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warning: Slash, non-con, bloodplay, angst, references to the holocaust.   
> Disclaimer: Again, none of these lovely men are mine, alas. 
> 
> Summary: When there's no hope left, one will submit to anything. Even Walden Macnair. 
> 
> A/N: Written for the Roughside Fuh-Q-Fest and answers to challenge: 4. Werewolves and other "dark" creatures are being held in detention camps. Remus quickly realizes to survive he needs someone to protect him, and the price of that protection means submitting himself to  
> _____ (I don't care who. Make someone a vampire, or a werewolf, make  
> someone a prison guard. Whatever.) (Skye)
> 
> Big thanks to Gina for the beta!
> 
> Word count: 7327  
> First published: July 2003

_In what distant deeps or skies_  
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?   
On what wings dare he aspire?   
What the hand dare seize the fire? 

_And what shoulder, and what art,_  
Could twist the sinews of thy heart,   
And when thy heart began to beat,   
What dread hand? and what dread feet? 

_What the hammer? what the chain?_  
In what furnace was thy brain?   
What the anvil? what dread grasp   
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

_(excerpt 'The Tyger' - William Blake)_

 

Remus kept his eyes down when one of the cooks clumsily filled his dirty plate with an unidentified kind of porridge, which would taste like cardboard at best and would likely be crawling with maggots. He had learned a few months ago, when he had been sent to this 'rehabilitation facility', that it was not wise to make eye contact with anyone unless you wanted to end up in one of the many isolation cells. Or worse, on Macnair's chopping block. 

Walking towards one of long, bare wooden tables in the large hall, he glanced to his right, and saw how the undead rehabilitants were fed bowls of cold pig's blood on the other side of the magically-enhanced fence that kept the werewolves and vampires separated. Not looking at any of the other men, Remus sat down, scooped up some of the rather slimy substance with his fingers, and ate the porridge silently, trying not to gag. The porridge tasted of decay and deprivation, just as anything they were fed in the camp did. Even the contaminated water that was available tasted of it. And even the air inside smelled of it. The air outside was filled with the stench of burned carcasses. 

It had been one of Fudge's self-proclaimed moments of brilliance that had landed Remus in this - what was advertised to the world as a rehabilitation facility - concentration camp over six months ago. It had taken the Minister of Magic almost two years before he acknowledged the return of Voldemort, and by that time the Dark Lord had already gained the support of most kinds of Dark Creatures. Thus Fudge had decided that in order to weaken Voldemort's troops, all Dark Creatures were to be transported to a 'rehabilitation facility,' where the Ministry could keep them under control and they would not be able to fight on the Dark Lord's side. 

When he had scraped the last bit of porridge from the tin plate, he brought it up to his mouth and licked it clean. Even though the taste was horrible, it was warm, or rather lukewarm, and it would be the only meal he would get that day. Remus had also learned in these past six months not to be picky about what was being served. You either ate it, or you starved. Remus had chosen to go with the first option, but he had seen many werewolves around him who'd rather let their bodies waste to nothing and die a slow and meaningless death. And then of course there was the third option; cause some sort of trouble, and you would be granted a faster, but more painful death at the hands of Macnair, the chief executioner in Silver Moon. 

Remus shook his head. He did not want to think about Macnair, and he briefly wondered why all his thoughts eventually led to images of the executioner. He would much rather think about Sirius and Harry. About Sirius, crouching beside his bike, wide grin on his face, a few oil smears on his cheeks, explaining to Harry, who was looking rather puzzled, how his beloved bike worked. Yes, Remus would much rather think about those seven days they had lived together as a family after Sirius' trial had ended, and his lover, his best friend, had been free for the first time in fifteen years. And therefore, Remus had been free for the first time in fifteen years. It was supposed to be the beginning of their life together. But it had only been the beginning of the end.

*~*~*~*~*

“I love you, Remus.”

His body still convulsing from his climax, Remus tilted his head up, looked at his lover, and gently brushed a lock of black hair from Sirius' sweaty forehead. 

“Do you now?” Remus teased with an amused grin. “You're not just saying that because I just shagged you senseless?”

Sirius chuckled and answered Remus' grin with an even wider one. Remus moaned softly as his lover's body shook beneath him, the muscles of Sirius' arse contracting around his softening cock. He leaned his face down and captured Sirius' full lips in a tender kiss. “I love you too, Sirius.”

Kissing his way down along Sirius' jaw, Remus teasingly bit his lover's earlobe before burying his face in the crook of Sirius' neck. He felt his lover's hands stroking his back, and he inhaled, the scent of sweat, semen and something spicy that was Sirius filling his nose, and Remus felt peaceful, free, and most importantly, he felt he'd finally come home. 

Their bedroom door burst open, and at least half a dozen cloaked figures stormed inside, wands drawn. Before either of them could react, several pairs of black-gloved hands grabbed Remus and roughly pulled him off Sirius. Frantic kicks and punches only led to the figures casting a quick binding spell on Remus, and he was forced to watch motionless as two figures pressed their wands against Sirius' throat. His lover looked ready to kill, but the threat of those wands held him back, and Remus met Sirius' blue eyes, which were filled with confusion, anger and a hint of despair. 

For a moment Remus was convinced they had become the target of a Death Eater raid, since all the figures in their bedroom were wearing masks to cover their faces. But didn't Death Eaters wear white masks? Remus glanced around, and noticed the black masks on their assailants. They weren't Death Eaters, that much Remus knew. 

One of the figures stepped forward and unrolled a piece of parchment. 

“By order of the Minister of Magic and the new law concerning the rehabilitation of Dark Creatures, we have the authority to arrest one Remus J. Lupin, sub-human, category werewolf, and escort him to the Silver Moon rehabilitation facility.”

“You are not taking him anywhere!” Sirius yelled, and tried to jump up from the bed, but immediately a black-gloved fist punched him in his face hard, and Sirius fell back against the headboard, blood seeping from his nose. Suddenly a new figure stepped into the bedroom, tousled black hair, sleepy green eyes, wand drawn. 

“Harry! Get the hell out of here!” Sirius ordered, and was rewarded with another punch in his nose, while Harry's eyes widened at the sight of Sirius' bloody face and Remus' bound naked body at the mercy of several cloaked figures. Before Remus could say or do anything, he saw a figure pointing a wand at him, and the world around him went black.

When he woke up hours, perhaps days later, he found himself naked on a cot inside what looked like a wooden barracks. 

Where....what.....Sirius! And Harry! What had happened? Remus forced his mind to gather those memories that could tell him where he was, but the only images that flashed before his eyes were those of Sirius lying naked on their bed with a bloody nose, and Harry standing in the doorway, a shocked expression on his face. 

Remus sat up slowly, and wanted to run a hand through his hair, but his fingers found a bald scalp instead. They had shorn his hair off. He glanced down and noticed that they'd shorn more hair off other parts of his body, as well. Remus shivered and felt more naked and exposed than he'd ever felt before. 

Rubbing his hands across his face, Remus swung his legs off the bed and sat for a moment, shoulders slumped, his mind filled with gaps that unnerved him so greatly that his body started to tremble. He hoped it was all a dream, a bizarre dream fed by his wolf, but a small part of him already knew it was real. Even though he still had no idea how he had ended up here, wherever 'here' was, he had a sinking feeling it was very, very real. 

Remus glanced around the barracks again, noticed all the other empty cots, the bare wooden walls, and the bars in front of the small, cracked windows that let in a bit of sunlight. Then he spotted something on the foot of his own cot and reached down. A pile of clothes. Unfolding them, Remus let out a sigh when he saw the state they were in. Compared to these rags, the robes he'd worn before Sirius had come back into his life looked like designer clothes. Still, he had no desire to walk around starkers, so he slipped into the torn trousers and jumper and pulled on the faded black cloak. Finally, he pulled on the stained brown shoes and stood up. They were a bit too small, and the soles were too thin, but he supposed it was better than nothing. 

Stretching his stiff body, he walked towards the door and took a deep, calming breath before he opened it. He squinted his eyes at the bright light that enveloped him suddenly, and after he blinked a few times, he stepped out, taking in his surroundings slowly. 

Barracks. Lots and lots of barracks. Large, brick chimneys in the distance, dark grey smoke drifting up into the clear blue sky. Remus inhaled and immediately wished he hadn't. The stench of death filled his nose, and he quickly rubbed it, trying to rid it of the scent that didn't bode well. It looked like a camp of sorts, but Remus suspected it had nothing to do with the Junior Wizarding Scouts. He started walking, his feet kicking up small clouds of dust as he tried to walk normally on the shoes that didn't really fit. He had no idea where he was going. All he saw were barracks, and not a living soul in sight. 

Until he rounded one of wooden buildings and collided with something hard and solid. 

“Watch where the hell you're going, you mongrel!”

Slowly, Remus looked up at the slightly taller man, and immediately knew this wasn't a dream. It wasn't reality, either. It was a nightmare. 

Walden Macnair sneered at him, dark brown eyes narrowed and teeth bared.  
Remus swallowed. 

It had been a while since he'd seen Macnair. A long while, really. Besides the brief glimpse he'd had of the executioner during his year as the DADA professor at Hogwarts, Remus hadn't really seen him since their school days. But Macnair hadn't changed much, other than the few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He still had that predatory glint in his eyes that had unnerved Remus greatly whenever Macnair had looked at him back in school, which had been often. 

Remus had often thought Macnair knew his secret back then, and would one day approach and try to blackmail him or just publicly out him as a werewolf. But Macnair never did such a thing. He'd just look at Remus, take in the scrawny Gryffindor with his hungry gaze every chance he got. The same kind of gaze that was now taking in every inch of his body, and for a moment, Remus felt like he was a schoolboy again.

Trying to keep his breathing under control by taking deep breaths, Remus swept his own gaze across the other man. Macnair was dressed fully in black, long, dark brown curls tied back, and a large axe slung across his shoulder in an odd, casual way. The blade was stained. With blood. Fresh blood, dripping down to the ground in lazy drops. 

Remus wanted to turn around and run away as fast as he could when he noticed that, but both his common sense and his pride stopped him from doing so. After all, he still needed to find out where he was, and at least he knew Macnair. Not that he was very pleased with that, but at the moment the executioner - and by the way his axe looked the man was still performing that particular job - was his only chance to find out what was going on. 

But before Remus could voice his many questions, the expression on Macnair's face changed, a brief sparkle of recognition visible in his dark eyes. The man's lips curled up in what could have been a grin, if it weren't for the bared, clenched teeth. 

“Lupin.” 

Remus shuddered when he heard that deep voice pronounce his name in a way that might suggest the executioner was pleased to see him. He tried not to show his anxiety though, and nodded curtly at Macnair. 

“Heard you were moving in with us. Welcome to the Silver Moon.”

*~*~*~*~*

The sudden silence that thundered through the hall brought Remus back from his private thoughts, and he glanced up to see all the other werewolves stare down at their plates, their heads bowed submissively. Remus didn't have to hear the sound of heavy boots on the concrete floor approaching him to know who had just entered the hall. There was only one man in the Silver Moon who got such a response from a hall filled with werewolves. The one man they all feared above anyone or anything else.

Glancing sideways, his head still bowed, Remus noticed the bloodstained black boots. He lifted his gaze upwards until it rested on the heavy leather belt around a pair of black trousers. He did not dare look up, not here in public, anyway. During their private moments, however, Remus was not afraid to meet the other man's gaze. As a matter of fact, it was expected of him to show a bit of defiance during their meetings. It turned the other man on, and it gave Remus the opportunity to tell himself he was not completely submissive. And even though Remus knew it was a lie, he liked to believe it anyway, for it was one of the few thoughts that had kept him sane since he had made the arrangement with Macnair. 

The executioner didn't say a word, but just stood next to Remus for a moment, until Remus nodded his head once, indicating that he got the message and would do what was expected of him. He kept his eyes locked on his empty plate while he heard the heavy boots move away from him. The soft whispers that erupted around him told Remus that Macnair had left the hall, and he quickly got up, tucking his plate into the pocket of his cloak. 

He kept his eyes on the floor and ignored the whispers around him as he walked out of the hall. Remus knew his arrangement with Macnair had made him an outcast among his own kind, but it was too late to change anything about that particular situation. It had been a simple choice between life or death, and Remus had chosen life, even though his current existence barely resembled anything of the life he'd led before he'd been transported to the Silver Moon. Still, he was alive, and that was all that mattered. 

The cold winter night caught him by surprise as he stepped out of the building into the snow. Remus shivered and pulled his ragged cloak around him in a feeble attempt to shield his thin body from the icy wind. As he walked through the snow, he could feel the cold seep through the worn soles of his shoes, and within moments he could hardly feel his feet. They still carried him through the deserted camp obediently to yet another night at the mercy of the executioner, even though Remus wished they wouldn't. 

Remus tried to keep his calm. He kept telling himself that he did not have a choice. He kept telling himself that it was just his body Macnair used, and that his mind was still his own. He also kept dismissing the treacherous voice whispering that perhaps Remus enjoyed giving his body to the other man. Because he didn't. Or so he told himself. The only reason he had chosen life was because of Sirius and Harry. He could not give up. He could not give in to the easy way out that death would give him. Not as long as he still had hope that Sirius and Harry hadn't forgotten about him. 

But that spark of hope grew dimmer each day. He had not heard from Sirius or Harry since he'd been locked up in here. Six months ago. Six full moons ago. An eternity without his trusted lover and at the disposal of the cruelest man Remus had ever met. 

Remus tried not to think about what Sirius would say about his choice. Would his lover agree that Remus had been right in choosing life? Would his lover agree that Remus had willingly submitted himself to Walden Macnair instead of the executioner's axe?

*~*~*~*~*

“Sir, denying us the right to speak with an attorney, or with our families, goes against every Wizarding law we have!”

Remus tried not to sound desperate, even though he was. He'd been in the Silver Moon for a week, and he'd come to the conclusion that he'd been transported to hell. Literally. 

He'd tried talking with the other inmates, but none of them were willing to answer his questions. As a matter of fact, they all studiously avoided him because of those question he asked. Remus couldn't understand that. Why did they not stand up? Why did they not fight? 

After a week of trying to get information from his fellow werewolves, Remus had decided he would approach one of the guards after their morning roll call. The guard, however, ignored him, and Remus had to step in front of the man several times to get his attention, because the beefy guard kept turning away from him. 

“Sir, you cannot keep us incarcerated without giving us a trial. We have not committed any crimes-”

Remus snapped his mouth shut as the guard pressed his wand against his throat. But before either Remus or the guard could speak, a low voice interrupted them. 

“Allow me.”

And suddenly two strong hands grabbed Remus' wrists, forcing them behind his back, and thin ropes swirled around them, binding them so tightly that Remus quickly felt his fingers go numb. Glancing over his shoulder, he let out a silent gasp. How could he have forgotten about the executioner? Remus had not seen Macnair since their first encounter a week ago, but obviously the man had been keeping an eye on Remus. 

Macnair grabbed Remus' cloak and dragged him away. Remus tried to stop him, and thrashed his body against the ground, desperately slamming his painfully tight shoes into the mud to get some sort of grip that would stop the man from pulling him along. But it was futile. Macnair's grip was too strong, and the mud beneath his body and feet was too soft and slippery. 

Before he could see where Macnair had taken him, he was forced down to his knees while the executioner slammed Remus' torso against a solid, wooden chopping block. Remus' face landed on the hard surface with a dull thud, but before he could let out a gasp to reflect the pain that swirled through his body, he felt something sharp and cold press against the back of his neck. 

Remus knew for certain that he was going to die, the hard, bloodstained chopping block beneath his body, and the blade of Macnair's well-used axe pressing against the back of his neck. He was going to die, yet he was not ready to die. He was not prepared to give his life up just yet. But he was going to die, because death was staring him in the face, even though death looked like Walden Macnair, crouching before him, eyes dark and teeth bared. 

"Such a pity to chop your lovely little head off, Lupin," Macnair breathed while his face hovered only inches away from Remus'. "You were always such a pretty lad, weren't you?" 

His chest heaving, the muscles in his neck straining against the pressure from the axe, Remus forced himself to meet Macnair's gaze, even though his instincts were telling him to just squeeze his eyes shut and accept his inescapable fate. But part of him refused to die like this. 

"Then don't," he whispered weakly. 

"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Lupin." Macnair pressed the blade against his neck even harder while he lifted his other hand and ran his bloodstained fingers across Remus' cheek. "You've been a bad wolf. You deserve a bit of punishment." 

Remus forced his head up, his chin pressing painfully against the solid wood, and winced when he felt the axe slicing into his neck. "Then punish me in a different way."

Macnair's eyes widened almost expectantly, before they narrowed again, a predatory glint clearly visible in those dark orbs. "You want me to punish you, then," he growled. "But it's going to take a lot for me to replace the joy of chopping your little head off for a different kind of punishment."

"Anything," Remus said quickly, before he could truly think about the meaning of that word. 

"Anything," Macnair groaned. "You'll do anything I want as long as I keep my axe away from your neck, is that it?"

"Yes." Remus closed his eyes, and couldn't help thinking he had just made a deal with the devil and was about to lose his very soul. But Macnair was not interested in his soul, at least not yet, because the executioner let out a growl, stood up, and started pulling open his trousers with one hand while the other kept the axe securely pressed against the back of Remus' neck. 

"Look at me, Lupin. Let's see what that mouth of yours can do besides trying to talk yourself out of a well-deserved punishment." 

Slowly, Remus opened his eyes and stared at Macnair's hard, throbbing prick. His nostrils flared when he smelled arousal mixed with dried blood, old semen and stale urine. For a moment he hesitated, desperately trying to determine if cutting a deal with Macnair would or would not be worse than letting the executioner cut off his head. Then he thought of Sirius, and how he wanted to be with his lover, how he wanted to share his life with him. Remus did not want to die that day. Or any day in the near future. So he did the only thing he could do to save his own life. He opened his mouth. 

Without hesitation, Macnair bucked his hips forward and shoved his prick inside Remus' mouth roughly. The hard shaft crushed against the back of his throat, and Remus gagged, feeling bile rise up from his stomach. Macnair did not care however, and rocked his hips, driving his leaking prick forcefully in and out of Remus' mouth. Remus instinctively tried to back away, but felt the sharp metal slice into his neck when he did so. Opening his mouth wider, he tried to swallow the excessive saliva his mouth was producing while he began to suck on Macnair's prick. 

Groaning, Macnair put his free hand on Remus' bald head and forced his cock in even further, his hips bucking hard. Remus closed his eyes and tried not to taste the bitter pre-come that leaked onto his tongue and down his throat. It would be over soon, if Macnair's ragged breathing and load groans were any indication. He tried not to think of all the other things Macnair would most likely make him do. He was alive, and that was all that mattered. 

"Fuck, yes," Macnair groaned, and drove his hips forward as he shot his release down Remus' throat. Remus tried to swallow, but Macnair's prick was blocking his throat, and he felt the warm seed drip from his mouth, across his lips and onto his chin. With a grunt, Macnair pulled back and crouched down. 

"Come to my quarters tonight at eight. I hope you like to play with knives." Macnair licked Remus' cheek, his tongue flat and wet, saliva coating Remus' face. "Don't be late." Macnair pressed the axe against the back of his neck hard, as a warning of what would happen if Remus would be late. Then the cold metal was lifted away from his neck, and Remus felt it slice through the bonds around his wrists. 

Without saying a word, Macnair walked away. Swallowing, Remus lay still on the chopping block until his stomach clenched violently. Shifting his body so his face leaned across the edge of the wooden surface, Remus threw up, bile and saliva and semen gushing to the sand beneath him. His breathing ragged, Remus lay there for a long time, not caring about the vile taste in his mouth or the dirty slaver staining his lips and chin. He was alive. And he would live. But at what cost?

*~*~*~*~*

Holding his faded cloak closed around him, Remus looked up at the high, solid gate that separated the camp from the rest of the world. The twisted pieces of metal decorating the gate read 'Silver Moon', and just below it 'Work exorcises the beast.' Remus shivered involuntarily, as he always did when he read those words, and continued his walk across the camp.

He passed part of the fence that formed the border between the werewolf camp, the vampire camp and the giant camp. A couple of months ago, Remus had spotted a very familiar-looking figure among the giants, with wild black hair and an equally wild black beard. He was sure that had been Hagrid, but he'd never seen the half-giant again. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen any giants for a couple of months now in their section of the camp. All he had seen were thick clouds of smoke drifting up from the chimneys. 

His feet sinking into the thick layer of crisp snow, Remus reached the guard quarters and walked around the corner of the building that housed their kitchen. His feet stumbled across something, and Remus grabbed the wall beside him, wincing as a few wooden splinters drove themselves into his palm. Regaining his balance, Remus looked down and gasped. 

Dark blood tainted the white snow besides the body of a man. Remus knew him. Shared a barracks with him. Richard, his name had been. A shard of blood-covered glass lay beside the body, and Remus spotted the large cuts on the man's wrists. So Richard had not been able to take it anymore. Perhaps the last full moon had been too much for him. It surely had almost been too much for Remus. 

During full moons, all werewolves were locked inside their barracks. The magically enhanced wooden walls and bars in front of the windows kept the savage beasts inside their small quarters. But locking up twenty werewolves inside a small barracks did, of course, have its consequences. During the previous full moons, all of them had awakened covered with scratch and bite marks from each other. The wolves always fought, trying to determine ranks during the night. But during the last full moon, only three days ago, something much worse had happened. 

When he'd awakened, Remus found himself covered in blood. But it was not his own blood. All the men in his quarter woke up covered in blood, save for one. Paul Windham, a thirty-one-year-old mediwizard. There was not much left of him, except for his blood on their bodies, torn-off strips of flesh and crushed bones scattered across the barracks. When he'd run down to the small toilet area - which was nothing more than a few holes in the ground - Remus had thrown up blood and flesh. 

Apparently the knowledge that he had torn apart a fellow wolf, a fellow inmate, had been too much for Richard, and he had taken his own life. Remus found himself enthralled by the sight of Richard's pale face, his lips dark blue and his eyes wide and fixed on an invisible point in the sky. He looked...peaceful, and Remus wondered if death would give one peace. When death had grinned at him in the form of Macnair, it had not been attractive. But now death looked alluring, tempting even, and Remus wished he could die like Richard, lying peacefully in the snow, looking up at the clear winter night's sky. 

But Remus knew he couldn't die, because he had an appointment to keep. But the appointment wasn't the reason he couldn't die, or was it? No. Sirius and Harry were the reason he had to live. Even though he had no idea if Sirius and Harry were still alive. Remus had not heard any news from the outside world, save for Macnair taunting him with stories about how Voldemort's troops were slowly but surely taking over the world. Remus never really believed those stories, but at the same time they ate away the small amount of hope Remus had left of ever leaving this place and being reunited with the people he loved.

Growling at himself for his treacherous thoughts, Remus told himself he had not survived six months in hell to want to die now, simply because a fellow inmate had been stupid enough, or had been smart enough, to choose death over life. He stepped away from the body, but then his gaze landed on Richard's boots. Very comfortable looking, sturdy boots. Glancing around him quickly, Remus did not think twice, but crouched down besides the body and started to unlace Richard's boots. When he'd pulled them off the corpse, he toed off his own worn shoes and stepped into the black boots. 

Remus let out a relieved sigh when he moved his toes around inside the thick leather. The boots fit him perfectly, and were an immense improvement to the tight worn shoes he'd been wearing since he'd arrived in the Silver Moon. Lacing them up quickly, Remus looked at Richard one last time and continued his walk to the executioner's quarters. 

Knocking on Macnair's door once, Remus pushed it open and stepped inside the small living room. He spotted Macnair sitting in a large chair in front of the fireplace, a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey in his hand. His normally tied-back curls were hanging around his face freely, and his black jumper was replaced by a tight, white undershirt, showing the executioner's muscled arms and chest. Remus fixed his gaze on the ground and waited for instructions. 

"I guess Father Christmas has not forgotten about you this year, Lupin," Macnair said with amusement clear in his voice. "Those are some nice boots you're wearing. Who did you have to kill for them, eh?"

Remus felt his cheeks flush and clenched his jaw. Finally he looked up at Macnair, who was eyeing him with interest. "No one."

Macnair got up, the bottle of firewhiskey swaying beside him as he moved towards Remus. "Are you telling me you just found a pair of boots lying around the camp?" Smirking, Macnair stopped in front of Remus and took a swig from the bottle. 

"As a matter of fact, I did," Remus whispered. He wished Macnair would stop asking questions already and just get it over with. 

"Peeled them off a corpse, did you?" Macnair moved his face closer to Remus', licked his cheek and brushed his lips across Remus' ear. "I could take those away from you, Lupin. Stealing is not allowed, you know."

Shivering, Remus pursed his lips and did not respond. Macnair was trying to bait him, like he always did, until Remus would say or do something that Macnair could use as an excuse to give him a particular nasty round of punishment. Not that the executioner needed an excuse. Their deal ensured that Remus would cooperate with anything Macnair wanted to do to him, anyway. 

Biting his throat briefly, Macnair looked up at Remus and bared his teeth in a way Remus had learned was a grin. "I suppose I can be generous for once. It's Christmas after all." Macnair licked Remus' cheek again while he wound his fingers in Remus' short, tangled hair. "But you do deserve some punishment for taking something without asking first."

Remus nodded and looked down, not wanting to meet Macnair's intense stare. It was Christmas? Remus had no idea of dates, since he lived by the phases of the moon. It was Christmas. Thoughts of Sirius and Harry invaded his mind, images of Sirius and Harry sitting at the foot of a nicely decorated Christmas tree, exchanging gifts, not thinking about him, being perfectly happy without him. Remus started to tremble, and literally shook himself. Biting his lip and feeling tears prickle at the back of his eyes, Remus looked up at Macnair again. 

Leaning his face even closer to Remus', his lips only an inch away from the werewolf's, Macnair's eyes were fixed on Remus, filled with their usual predatory glint, but also with something new. Something intense and frightening. And for a moment, Remus thought Macnair was going to kiss him. They had never kissed each other before. Macnair had kicked him, beaten him, whipped him, cut him, and fucked him, but never kissed him. Kissing was for lovers and was far too intimate for anything they did during their time together. But much to his own horror, Remus found himself wishing, for just the briefest of moments, that Macnair would kiss him. 

"Ask me, Lupin. Ask me nicely."

"Punish me. Please." Remus had said those words so many times before that they had lost all meaning. But that night, with Macnair so close to him, those lips so close to his, they had taken on a whole new meaning. One Remus did not particularly like. Macnair stared into his eyes for a few seconds more, before he pulled away and thrust the bottle of firewhiskey into Remus' arms. 

Blinking, Remus looked from the bottle to Macnair and back. Why had the executioner just handed him his bottle of liquor? 

Macnair stepped away and motioned his head into the direction of his bedroom. Remus knew the procedure, but was still puzzled about the bottle in his hands. He looked up at Macnair one more time, and then put the bottle to his lips, drinking the liquor eagerly even though it burned his throat and made his eyes water. Only when his stomach started to protest did Remus hand the bottle back to Macnair. Without looking at the other man, Remus walked across the sparsely furnished living room to the bedroom. 

Remus started stripping his clothes off the moment he stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. He threw his cloak, jumper and trousers on the bed, which they wouldn't be using anyway. They never used the bed. It was either the hard floor or the bare wall. Stepping out his boots, Remus glanced at the bloodstained wall, heavy chains with silver shackles hanging from the rough stones. He heard Macnair step inside but did not look at the other man. Nor did he wait for further instructions, but stepped up to the wall, his naked body shivering in the cool air. 

The rustling noises of fabric moving told him Macnair was taking his clothes off as well. Still, Remus did not look up, but kept his gaze fixed on his own bare, dirty feet. A warm, strong hand grabbed his arm, lifted it, and closed the silver shackle around his wrist. Macnair did the same with his other arm, and Remus stood motionless against the cold wall, his arms spread wide above him. 

Those strong hands with calloused palms started running across Remus' back, mapping his many scars, quickly followed by a warm mouth and a slick tongue. Remus had discovered early on that Macnair was fascinated with his scars, and had a particular urge to create more. Something he would undoubtedly do that night, as well. Remus leaned his forehead against the cold wall, ignoring the painful pressure of the rough stones on his skin. Macnair stepped closer, his hands and mouth still roaming across Remus' back and sides, and Remus felt the other man's stiff prick brush across his arse. He trembled briefly and grabbed hold of the chains, holding himself up and avoiding the silver shackles cutting into his wrists. 

Soon the warm hands were replaced by cold steel, and Remus clenched his teeth as he felt a sharp knife cut across his back. His flesh split easily under the blade, and Remus felt warm blood drip down his shivering skin. Macnair hummed as he moved the knife across Remus' back, cutting a pattern into the pale flesh. Then Remus felt Macnair's slick tongue lap up the blood that spilled from the wounds, and he closed his eyes as flashes of pain shot through his spine. Macnair liked it rough, but that night he was unusually gentle, if cutting someone could ever be considered gentle. 

Groaning contently, Macnair sank to his knees and spread Remus' arse cheeks. Hanging onto the chains, Remus obediently spread his legs further, and surprised himself as a moan escaped his lips when he felt Macnair's lips and tongue coat his tight entrance with something warm. His own blood most likely. The pain from the cuts on his back formed a tantalizing contrast with the pleasurable feeling of someone licking his arse and working his hot tongue inside. 

Closing his eyes, Remus cursed himself privately. He did not want to feel pleasure. He did not want to feel anything at all. But his body decided it liked the feeling of Macnair preparing him with his mouth, using his own blood as lubrication. Much to his disgust, Remus felt his own cock grow hard, and he pressed his body against the wall in a desperate attempt to stop his body from responding, to stop his cock from showing that he was enjoying at least some of the things Macnair did to him. It was wrong to enjoy it. It was wrong to want to feel Macnair's mouth on his arse. It was wrong to anticipate the feeling of the other man's cock pushing inside of him. 

Despite the things he was telling himself, Remus moaned again, and felt Macnair chuckle against his arse right before the executioner stood up and positioned his stiff prick against Remus' entrance. 

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Lupin?" Macnair taunted while he pushed his cock inside Remus an inch or so. Remus closed his eyes and did not respond. Macnair pushed in further, and despite the tearing pain he felt, Remus moaned again and pushed his hips back to impale himself on the other man's cock. 

"No," he groaned helplessly, and he wasn't sure if it was an answer to Macnair's question, or simply his own disagreement with what his body was doing. 

Bucking his hips, Macnair pushed in all the way and pressed his body against Remus'. "You're going to enjoy this, Lupin," he breathed against the back of Remus' neck, and Remus felt his body shiver and goosebumps suddenly covered his skin. Groaning, Macnair pulled back and thrust back in while he reached down and wrapped a blood-covered hand around Remus' erection. 

"No," Remus whimpered again, and hissed as he felt Macnair's hard chest rub across the cuts on his back. But despite his thoughts that this was wrong, the feeling of Macnair's cock in his arse and that hand around his prick felt good, and Remus craved to feel more of it. He'd not felt anything good in so long, not since he'd been locked up in there, and at that moment he realized he needed it like he needed to breathe. 

"Tell me you're enjoying this, Lupin," Macnair growled into his ear as he thrust hard, brushing across Remus' prostate. Remus whined, and felt himself rock back against Macnair before pushing forward into that tight fist around his cock. 

"I'm not....I'm not.....fuck me....just fuck me," Remus breathed, and Macnair sank his teeth into the back of Remus' neck. Holding onto the chains for dear life, Remus kept his eyes shut and rocked back and forth while more treacherous moans escaped his throat. He was not enjoying this. He was not feeling a hot prick in his arse and warm fingers around his cock. He was being raped brutally, as Macnair has always done before that night. Because if he was enjoying this, he had lost what little protest he had left inside of him. If he was enjoying this, they had won. 

Suddenly he felt a sharp blade press against his throat while Macnair started to fuck him with more force, and Remus gasped, fear mingling with the tingles of pleasure that surged through him. Macnair sped up his ministrations on Remus' cock while his balls slapped against Remus' arse as he thrust into the werewolf hard. 

"I'm going to make you come, Lupin."

His balls drawing up, his muscles tightening, Remus found himself unable to stop his climax from building. He did not want to come. And yet his body responded to all of the things Macnair was doing to him, and was ready to give in to his need for release. Remus felt the sharp blade against his throat and realized that was the answer. As his body caved and he shot his seed across Macnair's hand during his mind-blowing orgasm, Remus pushed his throat against the knife and tried to slice his flesh open. 

The knife disappeared as Macnair pressed into his arse deeply and filled him with his release. Then the hand that had been wrapped around his prick moved upwards and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back. 

"What the fuck do you think you are doing, Lupin?" Macnair shouted. "Do you want to die?" he asked urgently. "I won't let you die, Lupin. You are mine. And if you dare take your own life, I will hunt down that lover of yours, peel the skin off his body inch by inch and watch him bleed to death."

The loss of the knife, his chance to make right what his body had done wrong, drew a pathetic whimper from Remus, and he let go of the chains as his body slumped between the hard wall and Macnair. But then Macnair mentioned his lover. Sirius. Macnair would hunt Sirius down. Which meant that Sirius was still alive. Remus' head shot up, and he looked sideways at Macnair with wide eyes. 

The executioner seemed to realize what he had just said, and pulled out of Remus with a grunt. Releasing Remus' wrists from their silver bonds, he stepped back, and gave Remus what could have been a smile if it wasn't for the strained lips and narrowed eyes. 

"Happy Christmas, Remus."

Rubbing his wrists briefly, Remus turned around and stared at Macnair. He wasn't sure what exactly had just happened, but he did know for sure that things had changed between them and would never be the same again from that moment on. Sirius was alive. That knowledge filled Remus with so much hope, he was sure it was radiating around him, dripping from every pore on his body. Sirius was alive. And he, Remus, was alive.

Before he knew what he was doing, Remus stepped up to Macnair and crushed his lips on the executioner's. He needed to feel right now. He needed to be kissed right now. Because even if Sirius was still alive, Macnair was all Remus had at that moment. Macnair was all that was keeping him alive. Groaning, Remus pushed his tongue into Macnair's mouth and dared him to respond. Macnair met his challenge, put his hand on the back of Remus' neck, pulled him closer, and sucked on his tongue. 

Remus moaned, but he didn't care that his body was voicing what he was feeling. He only knew that he *was* feeling, and he wanted much more of that, even if he could only have that with Macnair. Pulling back, Remus stared into Macnair's dark eyes and smiled. "Happy Christmas, Walden," he whispered, before crushing his lips on Macnair's mouth again. 

 

~~fin~~


End file.
